When I was a boy, my dog would always try to follow me. Even though I loved him, there were times I didn't want him along. I'd yell loudly, "Go home!" As I went down the road, I would look back over my shoulder and see him standing there, with his sad face. The more guilty I felt, the more downtrodden he would look. It always worked. I couldn't stand it. I would turn around and say, "Okay, you can come along."  I remember how his face would light up. He would come charging down the driveway with his mouth open, as if he were laughing at me, and off we would go, down the road together. - JD